


P.I (England Noir)

by ColdWarSaint



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, Human AU, M/M, POV First Person, Private Investigators, amputee england, gerita - Freeform, spamano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdWarSaint/pseuds/ColdWarSaint
Summary: Private investigator Arthur Kirkland never expects to go back to his old life, never look back. That is, until a piece of his old life walks through the doors to his office: an old flame, and a new problem.Matthew Williams promises Arthur a chance at revenge for the loss of a better future; he promises closure, if he just takes one more job. Knowing he's getting himself into too deep, Arthur takes the job. Just one more job. Just one shot at revenge.Will he survive this? Or will all that regret finally catch him...
Relationships: Canada/England (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	P.I (England Noir)

Matthew Williams walked into my office just before I closed for the day. He'd always been like that: slipping back in at the last moment, right when you were on the cusp of forgetting him. Not that anyone could really forget a man like him. We all just pretended we had. Maybe even wished we had. 

He wasn't the type to forget. 

I knew he was here to ask for something. He was someone who liked to get what he wanted. With me? He tended to get it. 

Still. I decided to play hard to get. 

"I'm closed for the day? Didn't you read the sign?" 

Standing there, a hand against the doorway as if he was keeping me from going anywhere, he looked like just like an old memory. "I need you to do a job for me, Arthur. After all, you said I could rely on you, do you remember that?" He was wearing a vest over a partially unbuttoned shirt, the sleeves pushed up, and that was almost enough to make me forgive what he said next. "It's Lovino Vargas. I want you to find him." 

No hello. No polite conversation. Just the things I said years ago, thrown back at me. Funny he remembered them now, asking for this.

...the name Lovino Vargas only meant one thing. Feliciano. And I didn't want to get involved. I'd learned my lesson. 

But then I met his eyes. That was my first mistake. 

".................. why?" 

"Quid pro quo! It's a simple job, Art. One last one for me! We used to make such a good team, didn't we?" 

He'd answered without really answering anything, his voice a whole lot softer than it had any right to be. I could feel my chances of getting out of this unscathed lowering by the second.

I should have known as soon as he decided on me, it was over. How could I say no? His hair was lit from the hallway like a halo, and he looked almost like... 

I took the job. I already regretted it. 

\---

About 20 hours later, and after one extremely mediocre cup of coffee, I got to work. Matthew didn't let me alone to do it: making me cup after cup of coffee, insisting he could fit on my motorcycle behind me, paying for stakeouts...

The last thing he'd heard put Lovino in my area. As if that were the only reason he were here. 

The whole time we spent together, he didn't make anything clearer. And I tried my damnedest. Hell, I even went as far as to ask about his personal life. But after he replied to my questions about Amy by asking about Francis, I got the picture. 

I tried to wrap the job up quick. 

Unfortunately for me, working with Matthew came with other... Difficulties. Personally, I was never one to quickly recover from a tongue between my teeth. We both knew that. 

He tasted bitter and sweet, a walking contradiction. Strong hand on the back of my neck, another just above my waistline. 

He had the audacity to ask me if I'd missed him.

I had the audacity to tell him no. 

There  _ was _ one thing I could say about Matthew's... methods: once I got a lead? He was good about hunting it down. 

When he brought me the photograph, I asked him why he'd bother. If he found Lovino, he ought to leave me well enough alone. That was... Until I looked at it. 

Because it wasn't  _ just _ Lovino in that photograph. No. The person who was beside him was a man I would recognize in the deepest, darkest pits of hell. 

Antonio Fucking Carriedo. 

\---

The involvement of Antonio changed things. If  _ he _ had an interest in keeping Lovino Vargas safe, I suddenly had the opposite. And it Was personal. Matthew never swayed me away from bad ideas; I could count on him like that. 

Antonio being involved was, to him, like lightning from a clear blue sky: unexpected, most likely bad, but exciting nonetheless. Perhaps even deadly. 

So. We had a bit of a heart to heart. 

I locked Matthew in my office and demanded to know what he was doing, how he was going to use Lovino, and if he'd known this whole time it was Him. 

Did I say "heart-to-heart"? 

Well, it worked. That, or he knew me well enough to know when I was trapped. 

"Oh," Matthew told me with the cavalier air of someone out to brunch, "just after you left my wonderful company all those years ago, I had this little run-in with Feli-- you know the type. Anyhow! He's on my list now." 

Nothing light with Matthew, was it? I did know the type. But even when there was a catch, there was still a catch, wasn't there? 

"Unfortunately," Matthew had continued, "Feli isn't  _ stupid _ . He found Amy, so... I just thought..."

A quid pro quo, he'd said: a threatened sibling for a threatened sibling. Another reason to be glad I'd gotten out of the business. Another reason not to hop back in. 

It was just revenge, I told myself. Not like anyone in my head corrected me. Besides, I liked little Amy a whole lot more than the Vargas twins. 

"Fine. I'll help you threaten Feliciano," I promised. "As long as we kill Antonio. Or at least main him. And I won't be taking any responsibility." 

Despite that last little caveat, Matthew beamed at me. "You're so lucky we have history! Of course I'll help you!" 

Which had just about all the reassurance as shaking hands with the devil at a crossroads. 

Antonio Carriedo. I didn't need to tattoo the names of my enemies into my skin the way Matthew did to remember them. Cold metal and an ever-aching shoulder did that for me. 

I'd have loved to have forgotten all about him by now, but it hadn't been so long ago. Besides, losing a limb tended to stick with a person. 

All that to say... I was in too deep.

And Matthew wanted to pull me deeper. 

We watched Antonio and Lovino for a week. It was far more time than we needed. Their relationship was clear. 

And it pissed me off. 

If I thought Matthew could execute them cleanly, I wouldn't have hesitated to step back. But love made everything a web: Feliciano loved his twin. Alone, that wasn't dangerous, but now that twin also held an ace. 

No matter what, Feliciano was on the list. A list no one else had survived. And I was beginning to suspect that all this wasn't as much of a surprise to Matthew as he'd presented to me. 

"I need you," he'd said. 

But there, laying in my bed the blankets tangled around him and the list which Feliciano's name topped clearly visible up his ribs-- I wasn't sure. 

"You're overthinking this, Art," he told me. "Playing solitaire. This is *just* revenge. Nothing new: it's unfinished business. Think of it as breaking chains!" 

He always pulled himself up closer to me when he was playing an angle, and I knew it, and I didn't push him away. "You'd never have to think of Antonio again. You'd be free! And that's why you left... Isn't it?" 

I didn't say anything, but it was far too late for that. Matthew was already inside my head. I didn't need to say anything for him to know what I was thinking. 

"Oh, I know you're worried about breaking your promise, but *he* isn't here, Art. You let him go *because* of Antonio." His breath was warm on my throat and I felt my hair rise on the back of my neck. "He'd forgive you, you know that, if he  _ was _ here."

And it didn't matter that his voice was the smooth velvet of the gown on the lounge singer in the bar I frequented. It didn't matter that it was as addictive as the smoke I held in my lungs. It didn't even matter that he was right. 

Francis was the one person in my life I'd tried to treat selflessly. Otherwise, I was the same person I'd always been. 

Matthew knew it. We both knew it.

So I stepped a little closer to the flame. 

He tasted like mint tea and chapstick. 

"So you're in?" Another inch. 

"I'm in." Another handshake. 

As my luck would have it, we'd taken too much time. 

It was a rainy day. Matthew and I prepared to risk our lives for an admittedly less-than-noble cause. On my behalf, I was hoping this really would be the last time. But I could admit it: the idea of sinking a knife into Antonio had me in a good mood. 

I guess that in of itself should have been enough of a warning. 

I heard the tell-tale giggle a moment before the sound of a knife cutting through air. I threw out the arm I knew could take it: the blade someone had just thrown sliced through my jacket but bounded cleanly off the metal lines of my prosthetic. 

Above us stood one incorrigible Feliciano Vargas. In his other hand, a second knife. 

"Boo," he said with a little smile, "I forgot about that pesky metal arm." 

My eyes narrowed, and I could feel the way Matthew tensed behind me. We weren't going to give him a moment. 

Neither was he us, it seemed, as he leapt down immediately into the fray. A bold move when both his opponents were armed a bit more than he was. 

Feliciano went for me, first, and I caught his arms which Matthew aimed at his back. Not that he ever really had a chance to fire, Feliciano letting me go abruptly and backflipping up and over his head in a move I couldn't have replicated even ten years younger. He pushed off Matthew's back, kicking him into me, before landing with the grace of a ballerina. 

By the time we'd turned and had our guns trained on him again, his hands were up in a gesture of surrender. 

"Now, now, now! You don't want Amy dead!" He always spoke so cheerily. 

I could see a muscle twitch in Matthew's jaw. "She's with Ivan Braginksky."

Yet another thing I hadn't been told. At least this time I wasn't the only one. Feliciano's head cocked the side a moment. As with most things, though, he recovered with far more grace than I could. 

"Ah! Well! That's just  _ great _ !" And then he waved a finger at us, knife still in hand, like he was scolding us. "Oh, you boys think you're *sooooo* clever! But you are  _ far _ outnumbered! <3" 

"We know about Antonio!" I countered, my best play in an otherwise annoying situation. 

He laughed. 

"I  _ know _ you know! But! I'm not dead, am I? That's  _ strategy _ ! You're trying to do this ~clean~ aren't you? But you could kill all three of us at once, and that would be clean, see--" 

And then he threw both hands up as if drinking in the rain, and sang the next line, " _ we have more backup _ !" 

Matthew and I exchanged a look that told me we might finally be on the same damn page of this increasingly convulsed story. 

And he made a mistake then: he didn't shoot Feliciano Vargas in the head. Sure, I was complicit in the choice. But, if you were the betting type, I'm sure you'd know to always out money against my choices at this point. 

You'd have been right. 

I think we both let him live because we had this plan... And maybe, just maybe, we were hoping he was bluffing. 

He wasn't. 

As unfortunate as our early meeting with Feliciano had been, at least we knew they were all together. And the rain had let up by the time night fell. We figured he'd have warned the others. We figured they'd be ready. 

We didn't anticipate how ready. 

I was at the south end of Antonio's compound, preparing to breach-- Matthew at the north. We both heard them...

The mechanical sound of something flying, but not something big enough to wake anyone else. 

Drones. Armed drones. 

I almost dropped my gun in surprise. 

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS OR YOU WILL BE TERMINATED" 

There wasn't any arguing with that. 

There was also only one person who used drones like this. But why the hell *they* would be *here* and helping criminals... As it led me back to the center of the compound, I tried to wrap my head around it. 

On the worst night of my life, I was at a loss for the whereabouts of a limb, and Francis was at a loss for most of his memories, including all those of me. 

You could trust me to tell you this easily came second. 

Of course, Matthew and I had been in a number of situations I'd doubted we'd survive. But tied up there in Antonio's courtyard, the regret I knew was chasing me all these years finally caught up to me. 

Lovino and Feliciano were both there, one dressed in pajamas, a scowl on his face, and the other looking as delighted as he ever did. 

"Let's murder them!" The second suggested. 

And Antonio, fucking Antonio Fernandez Carriedio himself, wearing a fucking three-piece suit, holding this absolutely pointless halberd when we both knew he was packing-- "I didn't know you were so eager to lose your other arm."

Perhaps the second worst had been generous. 

"No," a new voice, this one altered as it passed through a mask, "we're not killing them, not while I'm here. You know my rules." 

That must have been the person the drones came with, someone I'd only heard about. The Day-Break Demon he was called. Demon, indeed. He had this pale skin and these bright red eyes. 

And yet, still, for all that he looked... 

"They're criminals. You kill criminals." Antonio was pointing out. 

Was it something about his slender frame? I knew I would have remembered an encounter with this peculiar fellow had I had one before. It couldn't have been that. So perhaps... A photograph? 

Mentally, I scoured the photographs I had pinned up in my office. The ones pertaining to cases I took. 

"That one's a detective," the Demon was responding. 

And then it clicked. There was a photograph of a young woman in my office whose brother was asking me to find her. Red eyes. Pale skin. White hair. 

I spoke before processing the words myself, "YOU'RE MARIA BEILSCHMIDT!"

Her, and I was sure I was right, spun on me, her eyes blazing. “What?”

“Maria… Beilschmidt…” I repeated, a little weaker now that her mechanical little pets had found a renewed vigor in targeting me. “The missing woman?” It was the last remaining bit of clarity she needed. 

“My fucking broth—” But then she thought better of it. “I’m not.” 

I could feel Matthew working on the bond that was keeping us together against my back, and I decided that what had seemed the impulsive mistake on my part could become a decent distraction. Always adaptable, I liked to say about myself. “You are. And your brother’s been worried about you! You should go home instead of hanging around these types, trust me. If you keep doing it you’ll end up regretting it in the long run.” 

“You don't have any idea what you’re talking about.” She kneeled down beside me. Not that she had a long way to go, and not like I was one to talk. 

“I’m afraid I do.” Still caught up on regret, the sentence carried more weight than intended. She didn’t feel much sympathy. 

“And you should be careful mentioning my brother’s name again.” 

“Ludwig Beilschmidt. I hadn’t actually mentioned it yet.” Which was pushing my luck, but since I’d already run out I wasn’t sure things could get much worse. And was almost curious about if they could. A bad habit, you could say. 

“You are in a very dangerous position to be cutting at the only thread keeping you alive.” 

That was true enough. Almost a compliment, at this point, how many times I’d heard it. 

I decided I’d cut to the chase. “Why are you here, with the criminals I’ve heard you’re rumored to despise, Maria? Why are you helping them at the expense of your brother?”

“It  _ isn’t _ at the expense of my brother.” Her voice was cold. I was used to women talking to me that way. Most men, now that I thought about it. Could have had something to do with the line of work. 

“You’re dodging the question.” 

“Because I don’t  _ owe _ you answers, I don’t  _ owe _ you—” 

In that moment, Matthew broke free of the bonds, leaping up rather dramatically to seize Maria and pull her against his chest. 

Recall what I told you about my luck? 

Maria was unphased. “There are drones behind you just like in front of you, and you don’t have a weapon.” 

“Don’t need one.” Matthew, to my intense displeasure, let her go and held his hands up. “I just needed to see who reacted to you the most.” 

I wondered, briefly, if standing up was worth the trouble, or if I wouldn’t rather be shot in a comfortable position, when that time came. And it looked like it was coming. 

“It was Feliciano. If you’re wondering.” Matthew said. “But I don’t think you are.” 

_ Feliciano? _ All heads turned. He took a half step back, universal sign of guilt. I had the audacity to feel some hope for the situation. 

“Me?” Feliciano laughed. “You’re desperate!”

“You went for your knife, why’s that? Why do you care about Maria?” 

Matthew was talking the way he talked to me in the bedroom, all silky confidence and shadowed eyes. Normally, that wouldn’t be such a good sign. This time, it wasn’t directed at me. 

“I don’t!” Another bright denial. I would have pegged him as guilty, if I were interrogating him. I’d seen that look before, the shifty eyes and false smile. Matthew had the same idea. He went for Maria again. This time, we all saw Feliciano react. 

Matthew fell back again, before he met the business end of a knife. “You see?” 

“She’s working with us! Of course I care!”

“Of course you care,” he repeated. “About her? Or, it is, about her  _ brother _ ?” 

Feliciano’s face flushed, something I’d never seen before. I took the risk on the no doubt awkward way I’d fall over when Maria snapped and killed us all and stood up. 

“What?” It was a soprano that could shatter wineglasses. 

As if things needed to be more complicated. When had I ever had control over that? Matthew was going to get us both killed, and he planned to do it in style— this was a suicide mission, and he’d convinced me it was about revenge. 

That much was on me. 

But what was life without Francis, anyway? What had it been since…

“Ludwig means something to you.” Matthew aimed a finger gun at Feliciano’s chest. “And you mean something to him, and if I win—” he fired it “— well.”

Love made everything a web. 


End file.
